


Horror Vacui

by MarchofBirds



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Dreamsharing, Force Bond (Star Wars), Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Unhappy Ending, i love to suffer, okay but it's not actually as sad as it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 11:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14568144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarchofBirds/pseuds/MarchofBirds
Summary: Through unforgivable crimes, hundreds of star systems, aliases new and old, and decades in between, some bonds prove to be unbreakable.And when no one’s looking, even Darth Vader dreams.





	Horror Vacui

 

If one were to listen to the whispers across the galaxy- in the ruins of the Republic, among ragtag bands of Rebels, even in the heart of the Empire- they might come to believe that the Emperor’s enforcer was something beyond human. More machine than man, it was said that there was no face under that dark armor, but rather a being of pure Force. Some claimed he was twice the size of a human man, others that he never slept, and others still that he could crush man’s windpipe without moving a muscle. Like oft-repeated smugglers’ tales, the stories could never be kept straight, shifted and morphed in each retelling.

However, there was one truth that was generally agreed upon, though in voices never loud enough to be overheard: even more than the Emperor himself, Darth Vader was to be feared.

 

 

In the cover of darkness, away from judging eyes- hundreds of _so very loyal_ followers just waiting for him to make a misstep, waiting for a sign of weakness, an opportunity to take his place- Darth Vader dreamed. He dreamed often of his Master’s voice, cruel and dark. Of ozone burning in his nose. Of blood and screaming- sometimes his, most of the time not. But there was one dream that had repeated itself dozens of times since he’d taken the name his Master had given him.

 

It would always be somewhere different- on the smoky banks of Mustafar, among the scattered bodies of the Tusken Raiders he’d slaughtered on Tatooine, in the verdant Temple gardens- but it always began and ended the same way.

Darth Vader would stand unmoving in all of his hideous obsidian glory mere feet from his former beloved, hated Master. He would appear older than he had been the last time Vader laid eyes on him, but no less handsome for it. Bitterly, and without hesitation Vader would reach out a gloved hand, never quite close enough to touch, and squeeze.

“Do you still love me now my little Master?” He’d ask tauntingly, choking the air from the smaller man’s lungs. When he didn’t, couldn’t, answer Vader would summon him closer until he could grip his throat without the aid of the Force. He’d release his hold just enough to allow the other man a few strangled, wheezing gasps. Then, because it was a dream, Vader’s helmet would suddenly be gone- his chalky white skin impossibly exposed.

“Well _Obi-Wan_ do you love this monster you’ve created?” He would ask again, gesturing to his newly-uncovered face.

And Obi-Wan would reach a hand out then, weak from lack of oxygen. He’d bring the back of his knuckles up and run them reverently against the ruined skin of Vader’s cheek. Down the side of his face and across his jawline, he’d caress skin that hadn’t felt the touch of another being in over ten years. Despite the fingers still curled around his throat, Obi-Wan's voice always came out as rich and crisply accented as it'd ever been.

“Anakin, my beautiful Anakin, I will always love you.”

 

Vader would wake then, his sickly golden eyes searching for something to focus on in the unending darkness. His stomach would churn, his heart race, the dream as clear as it’d ever been. That one admission- not the strange ever-changing locales, not his ability to breathe without the suit, not even the use of his long-forsaken name- was enough to force Vader’s mind to reject the scene before him, to bring him to the realization that he was dreaming.

But _those_ words—no, his distinguished, proud former Master had never willingly admitted to loving him. Not until he was watching him burn, until he had already made his peace with Anakin’s death, until he felt secure enough in using the past tense, did he speak the words aloud. Vader would summon the Force in closer, wrapping the darkness around himself like a safety blanket, and curse his own continued weakness. The pathetic, needy blue-eyed boy from the desert was dead, he would remind himself for the hundredth time. He’d burned in the fire that took everything else; whatever he had craved, whatever he’d thought he needed no longer mattered.

Darth Vader did not know whether the once-esteemed Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had ever loved another. But he knew one thing for certain: He had never loved Anakin Skywalker.

 

 

Half a galaxy away in a small dirt hut surrounded by a sea of dunes Ben Kenobi would startle awake, shooting up in a bed barely big enough for one. He would find he had broken out in a cold sweat, heart thudding in his chest, tears filming his eyes. He’d whip his head around in blind panic for a moment before realizing what had woken him.

Unyielding black armor reflecting his own face struggling for breath, then pale skin, sharp yellow eyes. That dream. The same dream he’d had dozens of times since Mustafar, since coming to this Force-forsaken planet to watch over the boy.

Ben would lay back down on his rickety mattress and look out the window he’d generally leave uncovered to let in the cool night air. There wouldn’t be any clouds in the sky- almost never were here, not enough moisture. The light of Tatooine’s three moons would bathe the dunes in an eerie silver glow. The wind would whip by outside unceasingly, the sandy horizon endlessly shifting but always remaining, somehow, the same.

 

 


End file.
